He dreams that his grandfather exonerates him from Mineral Blacksmith for going to Forget-Me-Not Valley without his permission. Apparently, Gray is still some sort of child that requires permission to do shit after-hours. He's forced to stay at Popuri's in the dream, where Claire is… also staying? (For reasons unbeknowest to him.) Part of the dream involves sharing a bed with her, but things don't get racy at all. He's comforting her as she cries quietly into his shoulder, lips pressed against the top of her blonde head. Claire looks up at him, her sapphire eyes shimmering, as if she finally, fully comprehends that he's been the one for her this whole time. Her gaze is fixed on his as she cranes her neck to kiss him, the action so soft, that it doesn't feel real.
Because it isn't real.
But whatever. This one didn't feel like something he wasn't supposed to see. It felt natural, the way that everything is when he's with her.
Gray just hopes that she's alright.
He can't shake the image of her with that indecipherable look on her face after what happened last night. Normally, he's the one that's hard to read; Claire's an open book. But her expression didn't look sad, or afraid, or even angry like his own; she looked lost. Like she was trapped in a traumatic daze that Gray couldn't manage to awaken her out of.
After quietly thanking a very tired Zack, they had walked over to Popuri's, an edgy silence filling the air around them. Gray was still reeling. Even though he was well aware of the kind of bullshit that women faced from men, he still couldn't wrap his head around what sort of a scumbag it took to violate a girl. Especially a girl as sheltered and inexperienced as Claire; someone that he told himself he was going to keep a close eye on at that hour if she were to accompany him. And he stupidly let her out of his sight for a second, stupidly allowed himself lose his temper so violently in front of her on that pretty boy. Seeing the frightened look on her face as he kicked the shit out of the guy was enough to make him sick to his alcohol-filled stomach.
With his knuckles swollen and sore, Gray used his elbow to knock on Popuri's window to wake her up. She emerged in a sleepy daze, and Claire inaudibly handed her the damn pill, a drop of his blood smeared on the box. He wondered how it even got there.
Gray began walking her home. "You look really shaken up," he had said, a regular Caption Obvious. No shit. They unfortunately lived in a world where, instead of guys being vehemently taught not to do that shit, girls had to make sure that they knew how to protect themselves if anything potentially happened. True bullshit, if you asked him. Flora said that mastering her black belt in martial arts made her feel so much safer after the sky got dark in Forget-Me-Not Valley. Gray's dad had even taught his mother and much-younger self how to fight someone off of them if they were put in any kind of danger back in the city. Couldn't Gray find a way to make sure that Claire wasn't so pathetically defenseless? Watching her walk alongside him on the path, he really took notice of how scrawny she was. As cynical as it sounded, and to no fault of her own, she wouldn't have stood a chance if he hadn't been there.
How could he have let that happen to her? And what if her boyfriend was putting her through the same kind of bullshit?
"I'm fine," Claire lied. The pin that he gifted her was back on her dress, against her left breast. Or, was it always there that whole time? A chill ran through the air, crawling its way under his skin. His knuckles throbbed, raw from each blow that he delivered to the thief's face. If she hadn't been there, watching him in horror, he probably would have beaten the guy further.
"Are you okay?"
"I am." Claire lowered her hand, staring at a small, skinny warble of blood. It ran down her palm, trickling to the ground in one swift motion.
Gray took her hand, confused as to where her wound was. "You're bleeding, Blondie." Was that her blood on the pill box?
The crackling noise of a twig snapping erupted in his ears. It was well-past two in the morning, so who the hell else was up? Still clutching Claire's hand, he saw a shadow from far off in the distance, illuminated by the street lamps. He could just make out the small speck of Elli's figure, walking quickly between the clinic and her house.
She spotted his gaze across the deep horizon right away, stared at his hand holding Claire's, and whirled around in an attempt to pretend like she didn't.
"What is it?" Claire asked, craning her neck to where he was looking.
But Elli was gone.
"Nothing," he muttered. Was there a permanent full moon in the air or something? What the hell is with everyone?
Whatever. It's morning now, and his grandfather's hijacked the bottle of Tylenol to treat his own hangover. It seems that mindlessly drinking runs in his family. There's only one pill left for Gray, even though his splitting headache probably requires about six.
Maybe he can get addicted to popping pills and end up in a Betty Ford-esque clinic like his screw-up father.
Nah. Kai owes him a goddamn solid first.
Claire doesn't wake up until two o'clock the next afternoon. Her stomach is cramping badly with period pains, like someone is stabbing her uterus using a dull knife. She obviously isn't hungover or anything, but she sure feels like she is. Groaning in her bed, Claire stuffs her face between her soft white pillows. Maggie jumps in next to her, licking her face and whimpering. If she could, she'd stay like this forever.
But then she remembers that she has responsibilities, and some Tylenol in her cupboard. Reluctantly, she rises to take the medicine, clutching her stomach so that she doesn't double over.
"How are you feeling?" Claire asks, when Popuri answers her call on the first ring. Her fingers are still shaking from when she dialed the number, and her stomach still feels like it's getting repeatedly kicked by someone wearing soccer cleats. Her friend merely groans on the other line.
"I just got out of bed now."
"Same." Claire gives a small laugh, but her attempt at it is so pathetic and forced that it makes her want to cry.
"I don't even remember you and Gray knocking on my window to give me the pill," says Popuri, her voice lowering so that her mother can't hear her. "And I don't even remember Kai's stupid reason for not being the one to go."
"He was a disaster last night, Pope. You both were. It totally wouldn't have made sense."
"I'm just so upset with him," she replies with a huff. "Like, really upset."
"I get it. But honestly, I truly don't think that he meant to." Claire thinks about Gray's words. Were they both to blame? Did it really take two to drunkenly dance in this case?
"I don't care! He's always so irresponsible when it comes to that; I wouldn't put something like this past him."
"I know. I understand. I'd be upset too."
Popuri pauses for a long time. "Claire, what if this doesn't work?"
This thought hasn't even crossed her mind. Imagine all of that happened last night for nothing. "It will," Claire tries to say levelly, scanning her brain for the success-rates listed on the back of the Plan B pack. "You took it ASAP."
"I wouldn't… I wouldn't wanna get a… well, you know."
Claire swallows. An abortion hasn't even crossed her mind, either. "I know."
"What would you do if you were me?"
This question catches her off-guard. What would she do?
Her answer feels stupid the second that it falls out of her lips. "Pray," she decides. "I guess I'd just pray." As if a simple Hail Mary would reverse the effects of that kind of mistake.
Popuri sighs. "Lately, that's been doing me no good." There is a static noise on the other line, as though her friend is twirling the telephone cord around her finger. "Kai left. He slept on my floor all night. Like, can you believe that? I mean, what if my mother walked in?"
"At least he's feeling better enough to get up," says Claire.
"I woke him up."
"Oh."
"And kicked him out."
"Oh." She pauses. Kai isn't a bad guy at all, at least, not in her opinion. Sure, he's smooth-talking, playful, and immature, but Claire sees the way that he looks at Popuri. It's a look of love, the kind that you'd find in the perfect romantic film. Like, the way that Johnny Depp looks at Winona Ryder in Edward Scissorhands. "I think that he feels awful, Popuri."
"Yeah, he should," she snaps, stopping to sniffle her nose. "I do too, though. I never wanted to take this stuff. It totally messes with your insides."
"I really believe that it was an accident."
It's like Popuri hasn't heard her, though. "Ugh, wanna know what he said to me? He was all like, 'well, you could have gone on birth control, too.' LIKE, is that the point?! And he knows that I tried a few last year, but they were all so awful. How can anyone be such an insensitive jerk?"
Yikes. Things not to suggest to your girlfriend at a time like this. "Maybe he didn't-"
"And I gave it up to him, Claire." Now, Popuri is crying, her voice heightened with sadness, tears tripping over her words. "I was going to wait 'till I was married, 'till I found the right guy, and he just… he convinced me that we'd be together forever. Like, he's so convincing. And I did it, and now I lost it, and I'm so upset, and-"
"But, you guys are still together, right?" Did she really "lose" anything? Was there anything tangible to "lose?"
Popuri scoffs and Claire's heart sinks. "Uhmm, no. We're done."
"'Done?' What do you mean 'done?'"
"'Done' like 'done.' He's consistently irresponsible, and a complete egomaniac, and a serial flirt. I'm so over him."
"Pope, you're going to throw all that you guys have away over one mistake?"
"I made a mistake. I put my drunken trust in him. And I don't need this... I'd rather be alone. We are so through."
Rather be alone? "Alone" was what Claire was for most of her seventeen years of life. Who would actively choose that over being with someone that they loved? "But-"
"Claire, how would you feel if Gray-"
"If Gray what?" Claire asks, confused.
Popuri coughs. "Trent," she says quietly. "I meant Trent." Clearing her throat attentively, she mumbles: "Look, forget it. Just know that I'm done with his crap."
"Oh man." How many Ben and Jerry pints is this breakup going to require? " I'm so sorry. Did you tell him that?"
"Yup. Didn't believe me. Told me I needed to calm down. I could be totally pregnant right now and I need to calm down?!"
When she says nothing in response, Popuri lowers her voice and softens her tone. "Are you okay?"
Claire finds herself weakly smiling, even though Popuri obviously can't see her. "I called to ask about you, not the other way around."
"You just seem distant."
"I'm tired, and I have a lot on my mind right now." She rubs her lower stomach. "Plus my period is being a you-know-what today."
"You're lucky to have one," Popuri says wistfully. "I wish Karen were here right now. She'd totally know what to say, and would never blab about it to my brother."
"True. But maybe me, you, and Ann could all hang out later. A much needed girls night, y'know?" Claire had previously contemplated pure solitude, but what good would that do? She could use her friends right now, and telling them about what happened last night would be a total weight lifted from her heavy chest.
"Ann's got a date with Cliff tonight, and I'm spending the evening with my mom," Popuri says apologetically. "We have to plan for the Chicken Festival by ourselves, with Rick gone on his honeymoon and all. But I really, really appreciate it. Thank you again, Claire. You and Gray are so awesome."
Claire smiles. It's nice to have friends; it really is. "Don't sweat it."
"I gotta go, but I love ya, chicky. Thank you so much."
"Love ya, too."
The line goes dead. Claire needs… no, requires, this Tylenol to kick in right now. Maybe she should take a Midol, too. Or get Trent to concoct a hybrid of both using his brilliant mind. Even though he despises painkillers and says that they ruin the liver while only providing temporary relief.
Trent.
The next call is crucial. Before she breaks down. The line picks up after the last ring.
"Hi," Claire breathes into the phone, her voice wavering. How much longer can she pretend that she isn't shaken up? And how much longer is it going to take for her hands to stop shaking? Gray kicked the heck out of that guy; what's done is done. She should be okay by now, so why isn't she?
Because the thief's hands still feel like phantoms on her skin, tracing over her like a ghost. Covering her mouth, groping her, squeezing her… she feels filthy.
"Did you just wake up?" Trent asks on the other end. She can hear him rustling through his papers.
"Yeah."
"You barely even drank last night." The call makes a crackling noise, like it's been put on speakerphone.
Claire feels her eyes instinctively well-up with tears. "Are you free at all today? I'd love to come see you. Maybe bring you some fresh milk." She squeezes the receiver between her shoulder and her ear, swiping at her eyes with the back of her hand. "I just need someone to talk to."
There's a long pause. She wishes that she could see his face, his sheepish smile, his nervous habit of fiddling with his stethoscope. "I'm swamped today, Claire," says Trent. "I'm really sorry. Work is crazy."
"Oh."
"Is everything okay?"
His voice is filled with such concern. This is her sweet, smart, at times, socially inept, but good-natured boyfriend. How could she ever think of him so poorly, just because his physical needs got in the way of things? How could she keep denying him of something that girlfriends gave to their boyfriends? He isn't anything like that guy last night… despite what Gray thinks. Trent doesn't take advantage of her; he cares for her. He's helping to eliminate her scars, both mentally and physically. Despite their short time together, Claire really believes that he might even love her. Maybe she actually loves him.
"We can just talk another time," Claire tells him. "You sound busy."
"Thank you for understanding. I hope you have a good day. You know, whatever is left of it!"
And the line clicks. She cradles the phone receiver in her hands, tears streaming down her face, wanting nothing more than the simple touch of her boyfriend. A knock hits her door.
Claire can just leave the person waiting, run some cold water over her face to mask her instability, or do a mental screw it and open the door in the state that she's in.
She picks the latter.
"Hi," Claire manages out. Gray stands on the other side of her door, brow furrowing.
"I'm sorry," he says.
"Why?" She squeezes her eyes tightly, shutting them in an attempt to mask her tears away.
"You're crying."
"I'm always crying," Claire says dryly. "I'm like Rachel from Friends."
"What?"
"Nevermind." She wipes at her eyes again. "You never get my pop-culture references."
"'Cause they're always dumb," Gray says, the corner of his mouth lifting.
She doesn't even realize that she's still wearing her pajamas, the matching set from Old Navy with the see-through white t-shirt and baby blue shorts. Plus, a shiver is running down her spine, meaning that her nipples are probably totally visible. Why why why why why why WHY?
Gray's eyes are only fixated on hers, though. "I thought you might be hungry," he says. "Uh, and I know you like breakfast-"
Who doesn't like breakfast?
"You didn't have to buy me anything." Claire just realizes now that he's holding a red container in his hands.
He gives it to her, his face stoic and cold, a portion of his jaw scraped. The blood has dried over it, scabbed along his five o'clock shadow. "I made you this."
She gingerly lifts the lid to look inside of it. "You made me some oatmeal?"
"You don't like? I thought I remember you saying-"
Claire blinks. "I love oatmeal."
Gray nods. "Well, there you go then."
"I didn't know you could cook."
A cocky smirk that she's come to know graces his face. "Do I look friggin' incapable?"
She smiles genuinely for the first time that day. "With cooking, yeah."
"Well, I actually didn't know that you had to boil the water to make it."
"Stooge," Claire laughs.
"It's a good thing Kai owed me one." Gray stuffs his hands in the pockets of his board shorts, rocking back on his heels. "Actually, he owes us both about five."
Claire throws her arms around him gratefully, hugging him tight. He's wearing cologne, but he still smells like the woods, as if he's been working outside. "You're the best," she says. "You really are."
"It's very sweet," Claire tells him, after taking a bite-full. She zips up the sweater that she's thrown over her loungewear, wondering if he downed the whole batch with Splenda while Kai wasn't looking. Her mouth feels sticky.
Gray nods, seating himself across from her at her kitchen table. "I added lots of maple syrup."
She stabs her spoon in it, watching it get stuck between the dense rolled oats. "And also very lumpy."
Gray arches his eyebrow, the one with the barbell in it. He slightly winces. "I'm working on it, alright?"
She touches his arm. "I love lumpy oatmeal."
He shakes his head. "You're actually a freak."
"You're the one that doesn't know how to boil water."
"I never said I didn't know how to boil water, I just didn't know it was necessary for cooking." Gray picks up a whiney Maggie from the floor, placing her in his lap to scratch her ears. "Kai said that adding milk as it cools makes a big difference in the thickness."
Claire nods, taking another bite. She didn't realize how hungry she was. "It really does. That's like, a Food Network hack."
He rolls his eyes. "Whatever."
"How's he doing?"
"What, with the break-up?" Gray scoffs. "He's good. His motto's always been that to get over someone, you gotta get under someone else. Trust me, he'll be alright."
Claire makes a face. "But they were in love. I don't think that that's a healthy way to heal a broken heart at all."
"He's fine."
"Ten bucks says he's not."
Gray sticks his hand out dubiously. "Ten bucks says he is."
She shakes his hand to place the bet, not realizing how vigorous her action is. "What's wrong?" he asks, squinting at her.
Claire chews on one of her nails, a nervous habit that is both unattractive and kind of gross. "I'm just… very angry."
"At me?"
"I'm always angry at you," she says coyly. "Just like you are with me, 24/7." Claire hopes that her sarcasm is conveyed, because she isn't angry with him at all; she's completely grateful for his company. Grateful for when he came to her rescue last night, grateful for their friendship, grateful for him just being him.
He scowls. "I'm never angry at you."
"Bull."
"I'm always irritated by you."
She smiles, pinching his cheek. "Don't lie. You like spending time with me."
"Your presence is the exact opposite of a hangover remedy," Gray counters, rubbing his temples. "What'd you do today?"
"Um, slept." She pauses. "Checked up on Popuri… called Trent."
"What did you tell him?"
Claire puts the now-empty container of oatmeal down, swallowing her last few spoonfuls. "Nothing. I can't do it over the phone."
"And he's too busy for you."
She glares at him. "Don't."
"Don't what?" Gray adjusts his hat. "I'm just saying."
"Well, please don't." Claire rises from her seat to rinse his container at the sink. "I don't wanna hear it."
"You never wanna hear it."
"Gray-"
"You shouldn't be afraid to tell him anything." He's still seated, his voice firm over the sound of the running water.
Something inside of her snaps. Maybe it's the fact that the Tylenol still hasn't fully kicked in yet, or that she has no desire to receive any sort of lecture today. Claire turns around, her hands full of soapsuds and her eyes blazing. Gray recoils slightly at her voice, tucking his chair back a bit. "Gray, I'm cramping really bad and I really don't need this right now." Her lower lip trembles as she looks out her window. The last thing that she wants to do is lift up her stupid watering can or tend to all of her weeds. Her breasts are sore, her back is aching, her uterus is contracting, and she really hates the fact that she's a female right now. "Plus, I still haven't even started my stupid farm work yet."
Gray stares at her. "I did it already."
"Huh?"
"I did all your shit." He squints at her again. "I dunno how it takes you such a long time. All you do is complain about it, but it was easy."
Claire stares back at him. "Why? Why did you do that?"
"You're supposed to say 'thank you,' you pain in the ass."
"I-I'm sorry," Claire stammers. "Thanks... you didn't have to." And she feels herself crying all over again.
Gray widens his eyes, rising from his seat to rush over to her. She quickly wraps her arms around him, sobbing into the fabric of his shirt the way that she did last night.
"Blondie, why are you crying?" he asks, panic edged in his voice.
"I dunno!" Claire wails, her words muffled by his chest. She's such a crybaby... how any of the nuns dealt with her emotional outbursts growing up, she'd never know.
"Well… stop."
How can someone be so good at the whole comforting thing?
"Claire," Gray says, his voice a little pleading. He gently squeezes his arms around her, as if to remind her that he's there. "Please don't cry. What's wrong? Don't be… sad."
She looks up at him, eyes blazing once again, causing him to release her in a panic. "I'm not sad," she snaps. "I mean, I'm emotional because of my stupid period, but I'm just so… angry." Claire pulls away from him, crossing her arms with an irritated huff. "What makes a creep think that he can just do crap like that? I mean, you don't see girls going around grabbing guys by their… by their-"
Gray holds his hands up like he doesn't want to hear her to finish the sentence. "I know, I know."
"'You know' what?"
"I just don't like when you're mad," he says with a grimace.
Claire points to the scab on his face. "Like you are any better when you're mad?"
Gray shifts his eyes away from hers. "You just… I dunno. It's unsettling to see you like that."
"Newsflash, you aren't the only person on the planet who's allowed to have a temper. Seeing you mad is scary."
His cheeks flame. "I'm sorry."
"But you don't need to be sorry. I'm not mad at you. I… I'm grateful for what you did last night, it's just-"
"I know."
"'You know' what?"
He brings his hat over his face further. "I-I dunno."
Claire sighs. "I just wanna punch something."
"You want to what?"
"Punch something. Like, hit something. Hit that damn thief." She looks like she's considering what to say next. "In the nuts."
"Screw that cock." But he says a different c word instead.
"That's such a bad word, Gray."
"You sound like my mom," he muses, rubbing his neck thoughtfully. He stares at her casual attire. "Get dressed."
Claire frowns. "What?"
"You heard me."
"Where are we going?"
"Outside."
"I don't want to punch you," Claire hisses, standing outside of her farmhouse. It's mid-afternoon in the sweltering heat, and the sun seems to be beating down on the both of them with extreme force. The highly supportive sports bra that she wears under her baggy athletic shirt is making her breasts feel even sorer, and the humid temperature really isn't helping. Does it honestly have to be this hard to be a girl?
Gray has Maggie in his arms again, but he places her down against the bed of grass gently. She barks and tugs at his shoelaces with her teeth. "You've never wanted to punch me?"
Claire purses her lips with a laugh. "Well, I didn't say that."
Gray's expression stays serious, though. "Go ahead. Try your best to hit me."
"What if I hurt you?"
He smirks. "You won't."
"I might."
"Trust me, you won't. Go!"
Under his command, she reluctantly tries to ram her fist into his chest. Gray's palm instantaneously squeezes over her knuckles, blocking her hit instantly. Claire's eyes go big.
"What do you think you're doing striking there?" he snaps.
"Well… I dunno!" How did he know that I was going to do that? And how'd he block it so quickly?
Gray loosens his grip to release her fist, shaking his hand out. "Dummy."
She scrunches her nose up at him. "You suck."
"No, apparently, you suck," says Gray. He narrows his light eyes at her. "If you're aiming to hurt someone in order to protect yourself, don't bother going for their chest. That's gonna do nothing, or it can easily be stopped the way I just did. And if you do aim for the chest, you need to go for the solar plexus."
Claire's mouth presses into a tight line. "The what?"
"The solar plexus," answers Gray. "Lower than the sternum, but higher than the stomach."
"How would you even-"
"Have you seen Happy Gilmore?" he asks impatiently.
"Um, yes. Like, a hundred times." Claire grins
Gray smiles back at her, no longer looking irritated. "Okay, when the Price is Right guy hits him like, before he keeps punching him in the face, he goes for his solar plexus."
She can't help but snicker. "How'd you even think of that?"
"I gotta break shit down for you using movies, you cinephile." He shakes his head, turning his cap backwards. "Anyway, that's a good spot, but it takes lots of practice. The easiest would be to aim for someone's nose, their jaw, or their throat."
"Their throat?!"
"Why do you think they tell MMA fighters to keep their chins down?"
"They do?"
He sighs. "You're friggin' lost."
He's just figuring this out now? "Uh, yeah, I am lost."
"Try punching me again. Go for any of the spots we just talked about." Gray takes her hand, moving her fist in an upward motion for her. "If you're going to hit the jaw, though, you should try and go for an uppercut motion."
She frowns again. "I just don't wanna hurt you."
"Pretend I'm that cock," says Gray, standing back.
"Which one?" Claire asks dryly. "According to you, I have lots in my life."
"Er, you might wanna refrain from saying that."
She strikes his solar panel or plexiglass or whatever the heck he called it, surprised when her hand returns back to her in pain. "Agh!"
Gray gawks at her incredulously. "Why would you include your thumb in the punch? You're just asking for it to get broken in the process." He takes her hand, intentionally moving her thumb out of the way as he closes her fist for her. He stares. "You're a lefty?"
"Yup," she says.
"Okay, Southpaw stance."
"What?"
Gray sighs again. He's been doing that a lot today. "Right hand out, right foot forward, Blondie. Now, you're going to cross me."
"I'm going to what?"
"Fuck's sake."
"I'm actually trying."
"I know. That's the sad part."
And they go back and forth like this for some time. He tells her what to do and how to do it, she does it wrong a majority of the time before actually getting it, they move on to practicing it, then he teaches her a new skill. They "break" to run, as per Gray's suggestion, though she hates this part the most. Claire doesn't even realize that they've been outside for hours, until she watches the sun lowering into the horizon, a warm pocket burying itself in the painted sky.
"Again," says Gray, snapping her into focus. Maggie pouts under the tree next to him, rolling on her back to demand more attention.
"But, my arms are sore," she complains.
"Okay, then we're going for another run."
"Okay, okay, okay. I'm going." Claire accidentally pummels her fist into him, clocking his jaw. Her hand flies to cover her surprised mouth. "Oh no! Ohmigosh, Gray, I'm so sorry!"
He rubs the spot that she's hit, nodding. "That was really, really good. Next time, you need to try driving your elbow more."
She rushes over to him, staring at the red spot that she inflicted. It's on the other side of his jaw that wasn't injured yesterday, but it sure looks like it smarts. She touches it. "Are you okay?"
Gray shakes it off. "Yes. Now go back into your Southpaw stance. Utilize your right hand to drive the first punch, and then quickly move to your next." He stands behind Claire, pressing himself against her to physically manipulate her arms. "Try it again." Maneuvering her hand forward, he has her punching the air in front of her with force.
Claire smiles. "I bet I could have hurt that jerk badly if I knew all of this yesterday."
"Yeah, well, that's why this shit is important." Gray walks in front of her, grabbing both of her petite hands with his larger ones. The callouses on his skin are rough against her own. "If someone's got you locked like this, do you know what you have to do?"
"Um, when the guy grabbed me like that, I could only spit on him, so-"
"You need to drive your knee up," he says. "Bring it up hard and push it into his groin. He'll keel over right away from that."
"Is that the same thing as blue balls?"
Gray stares at her. Her question clearly catches him by surprise. "What the hell? No. Blue balls is uncomfortable… I-I guess, but it's really just a bullshit excuse that guys use to try and get laid." He peers at her crossly. "Why?"
"No reason."
"This doesn't… there's no term for this. It's literally just called getting kicked in the balls."
"Oh." She pauses. "This guy at my high school used to call them 'brovaries.'"
"Amazing," Gray says slowly. "I'm… so happy you shared that with me."
"Aren't you? I can tell." Claire winks, realizing that she's truly met her sarcastic match.
"You're so funny."
"Really?"
"Funny looking."
She scowls. "Remember how I said I was afraid to hurt you?" She drives her leg out, kicking high. "Well, I'm actually not anymore. Why don't you c'mere; let me practice sacking you."
"Focus, Blondie." Gray chuckles between his words, shaking his head at her. "Again. Let's try it all over again."
She pushes open the door to her farmhouse, groaning. "Oh man, I'm so tired."
"I'm so hungry," says Gray, yawning. The coolness of her home feels nice against his skin. They must have been outside in the heat for more than five hours of straight, gruelling training. He hardly broke a sweat, given the commanding role that he took, but Claire looks worn out.
"When are you not?" she asks with a laugh, walking over to her sink to wash her hands. "Do you want me to make something? I have a pizza dough that I can pop in the oven."
Pizza would be a Godsent. "Are you sure?"
"Yup." Claire uses her arm to brush back the wispy bits of hair that have fallen out of her ponytail. "If you can just grab the tomato sauce and cheese in my fridge, I'll spread the dough out."
"Do you need me to do anything?" Gray asks tentatively, after Claire's finished. She had ordered him out of the kitchen angrily after he tried helpfully pouring the sauce on the not-yet spread out dough ball.
"Um, I'm super sweaty and I really need to shower. Can you put the pizza in the oven and watch it?" Claire puts her hand on her hip. "Middle rack, please. Are you capable of that?"
He can feel his cheeks getting hot. "Oh, uh, I can leave if you want."
Claire pulls the scrunchie out of her hair, long, blonde tendrils tumbling down her shoulders. She looks at him like he's the biggest idiot on the planet. "Gray, then who's going to man the pizza?"
He just presses his mouth into a tight line, saying nothing, because this is what she does: leaves him speechless.
He and Maggie seat themselves on the tiled floor of her kitchen as he watches the pizza rise through her oven window, the mozzarella browning and bubbling on top, the basil wafting a delicious aroma through her house. The sound of water running rushes through his ears as Claire silently disappears into her bathroom.
This isn't supposed to be a compromising position at all, not even in the slightest... because it just isn't. This is her house, and she's allowed to shower, and he's been assigned a task that he isn't supposed to screw up, and it's totally fine. You know, as long as her boyfriend doesn't pay some sort of surprise visit, because Gray isn't naïve like her; he's fully aware that Trent wouldn't like this one bit.
Fifteen minutes later, he struggles to figure out which way the oven mits go on, rising to pull the piping hot pizza out of the stove. Somehow, he's managed to overcook it a bit, and by a bit he means a lot. Gray drops it on her counter, shaking his heated hands out.
"Um, Gray?" Claire's voice catches him by surprise, muffled over her closed bathroom door.
He panics. "Wh-what do you need?"
Her voice is impatient. "Could you just like, go outside for a sec, please?"
Oh, so now she wants him to go outside. That's what he initially suggested. He doesn't wanna be in her home while she's showering.
Wait, it's probably so that she can get dressed.
That would make sense. He can feel himself blushing again. For someone who's literally showered with girls, he really doesn't know how to not be awkward when one is showering without him.
You're an idiot, Gray.
"Yeah," he answers, tossing the oven mits off. He walks out of her front door, turning to close it. Through the ajar crack, Gray catches a glimpse of her as she exits her bathroom. A crisp, white towel is clung to her wet body.
He slams the door shut nervously. One day, Gray will learn to play it cool. Until then, he'll be with Claire, subjected to a series of compromising positions.
"What the hell is this?" he asks, back in her farmhouse. Claire adjusts the knob on her radio, huffing at him. Her hair is wrapped in a smaller towel.
"You burnt the pizza. I don't know how you managed, but you did," she snaps, swatting a napkin at him.
"What the hell is this?" he repeats again, pointing at her radio. She isn't playing the modern dance shit of today, or anything like that. No. She's playing worse: 80's dance shit.
Claire glares at him. "It's Whitney Houston and I love her and you said I couldn't play my greatest hits CD's outside while we were training and it's my house and I'm playing them now." She sticks her tongue out at him, dividing the pizza crust into eight slices using a knife.
Gray places four pieces on his plate, four on hers. "How are you good at cooking, again?" asks Gray, taking a bite of the slice. It's airy and fluffy with a tasty crunch, rivalling anything that his mom had previously made for him, even if he did accidentally overcook it a tad. He picks off a piece of the crust, tossing it to Maggie. "Like, you grew up in a church that's known for serving stale crackers."
Claire shakes her head at him, swallowing her mouthful of pizza and placing the slice down. When her face is bare like this, without a stitch of makeup on, it makes her sun freckles stand out more prominently. "It's called the 'host,' and you're honestly really terrible." She smirks. "Is this you starting a round of twenty questions?"
Gray rolls his eyes. "Sure."
"Well, I mostly learned in high school when I had to take home economics," she says. "But those recipes were super basic, so one of the girls from the church had this massive cookbook, and we'd always pick recipes from there to make dinners at the convent." She winks. "I'm kinda like a self-proclaimed Rachael Ray, but cooler."
"That was the most uncool statement I've ever heard."
"Bite me," she scoffs. "It's my turn."
"Go."
"What's the worst trouble you've ever gotten in?"
"I used to get into trouble all of the time. You gotta be more specific."
"I'm talking worst. Worst worst."
"I dunno. There was this one time I told my tenth grade math teacher off, and he refused to pass me, even though I was getting an eighty." He shrugs. "So I slashed his tires."
Claire widens her eyes. "You did not."
"I did. And my parents were so pissed. My mom was bawling, asking where she went wrong with me, and even though I could tell my dad thought it was badass, he agreed with my mom and I got grounded for like, the entire summer." Gray thinks for a moment, recounting this memory. "Oh, and I got suspended for the last two weeks of school."
"Why'd you tell him off?"
Gray frowns. "This guy was such a derogatory jackass. He said something to Kai that was totally racist, and everyone in the class was so taken aback, but he preached that he didn't mean it in that way, and that our generation was always too sensitive, blah blah blah, and I was like, 'maybe your cunt is sensitive,' and-"
"You said that?" She doesn't bother hiding the blatant shock from her voice.
"Yeah. I didn't care if I got suspended. But he couldn't just fail me if I wasn't getting below a fifty." He leans back in his chair, smirking. "You know, I'm actually pretty good at math."
Claire giggles. "Oh man, I hate math."
"I hate math teachers," counters Gray. "But yeah, that was the worst trouble I'd ever gotten in."
Claire nods, as if considering it all. "You're like that guy in The Breakfast Club."
"Who? The Brain?"
"As if. You were clearly the Criminal," she replies with a snicker. "It's your turn."
"Okay, where do all of your clothes come from? You dress like a reject on Saved by the Bell."
"Um, I was going for Joey from Dawson's Creek, but thanks." Claire smooths her vintage, acid washed shirt out, crossing her arms over her chest. "If I'm being real, most of it is honestly stuff I bought from the thrift store." She blushes. "But not like, socks or intimates or anything like that! Those I'd obviously… like, buy new."
"So you thrifted your overalls, your Levi's, your baggy t-shirts, your-"
"Duh. I mean, all of the members of our church got first dibs at the Salvation Army."
"So where'd you get this money to thrift? Where'd you get your money in general?"
She fixes her gaze on the floor. "It's super lame."
"Just tell me."
"But that'd be two questions in a row for you."
"That's tough. Tell me."
"Well, my mom left me some money."
"Mhm, and what else?"
"... And I used to work at Build-a-Bear," Claire finally answers with a stifled laugh. And he is ridiculously laughing with her, nearly choking on a piece of his pizza. "What?!"
"That is super lame. That's like... I would have bullied you for that, if I knew you back in high school."
"Shut up! I loved it." She pushes him playfully from across the table, knocking his water over by accident. "Oh, shoot."
"This is why... people didn't talk to you," he says with a laugh. "You blame it on being the weird church-girl... nah. It's because you were the weird stuffed-bear-girl."
She grabs her side, doubling over in her seat from laughing so hard. "You're so mean, Gray. Leave me alone! I actually liked working with kids."
"I friggin' hate kids."
"You're heartless. You would not have been approved to adopt a bear." She pauses until they're both finished laughing, going in for her next question. "Do you have a middle name?"
"Why? Are you going to name your next bear after me?"
"You wish!"
He takes a drink of his water, regaining his composure. "It was supposed to be Damianos, but my parents shortened it to Damian."
"That sounds Greek."
"My mom was Greek."
"Get out! Oh my gosh, Gray, that's like-"
"John Stamos? Like I haven't heard that one before." He rolls his eyes at her blank expression. "You know how I knew you were gonna say that? Because you're so friggin' predictable."
Claire pouts. "I actually hate you. Just let me love Full House." She pauses. "I didn't know you were Orthodox."
"Does it look like I practice it?"
"Guess not. Did your mom have a Greek name?"
"It was Stamatina, but everyone just called her Tina."
"That's so pretty," Claire remarks.
His father, being a carpenter and all, had carved a chest for his mother's fortieth birthday, inscribing her name in neat calligraphy on it, as well as the meaning behind it. Only, his dad had translated it incorrectly, believing that her name meant "stop" when it actually meant "morning." Plus, no one called her by her full name, but his mom had smiled upon receiving the gift, saying it was always the thought that counted.
"What's your middle name?" Gray asks, in attempt to escape his thoughts.
"It's Naomi. From the Old Testament."
He arches his eyebrow. "How do you even spell that?"
"Gray, you are so annoying." She looks as though she's contemplating her next question for quite some time. "Why are you always angry?"
"Because of you. Because you make me angry."
"I knew it."
"Because everything sucks."
"Everything does not suck."
"Why do you care?" he asks, not bothering to hide the irritation in his voice.
Claire twists her mouth into a smile. "Well, I don't know if you know this, but no one wants to be around a miserable jerk."
"And yet here you are: Saturday night, your only company a miserable jerk."
"And a cute dog," she says, lifting Maggie into her lap. As per usual, though, her own puppy would much rather scamper over to him, something that confuses him to this day. "The thing is, you aren't though. You're actually very sweet under that rough, horrible exterior. I mean, don't you ever want to settle down?"
Gray does his best to not turn red at her statement. "No."
"You don't ever want to get married?"
"Nope."
"Or have kids?"
Gray stares. "I told you that I don't like kids. You think I want a bunch of little rugrats running around? You're dreaming."
"That's horrible."
"Oh well." He looks her over, wondering why he even bothers saying these next words. "You know, Blondie, I don't remember the last time that we spent the whole day together."
It's true. Ever since her precious doctor had come into her life after destroying his, Gray's been seeing less and less of her; a notion that he isn't too fond of. He looks forward to being with her, when an argument regarding Trent isn't looming over both of their heads. And the creep thought that he could intimidate Gray into staying away from Claire. Ha.
He isn't even planning on telling her that the real reason for training her in self-defense is because of said creep.
"You're too busy for me," Claire replies with a shrug, deflecting any and all blame off of herself, onto him.
"That's so bullshit," he says, without meaning to do so that harshly.
"I know." She frowns. "I'm sorry, I know it's me. Things have been crazy lately."
"Crazy," Gray repeats sarcastically.
Claire gives him the cut-eye, rising to take her empty plate to the sink. "You know, it made me really happy to see you both sharing a drink at the wedding yesterday." She unwraps the small towel from her wet hair, turning to him, her eyes softening. "It told me that you're both willing to put aside your differences for me."
Gray is taking a drink of his water as she says this, nearly choking. He coughs, barking out a laugh, much to her annoyance. "You really are dreaming, Blondie. I wish you were a goddamn fly on the wall for that conversation."
She glares at him, her hand clenched tightly beside her, the hope on her face quickly wilting. "Why are you like this?"
"You wanna know what we really talked about?"
"No, Gray, I don't."
"You don't?"
"I don't," she snaps, making her way over to grab his plate. He notices a red spot under her hand, one that isn't from the pizza sauce. Gray gently grabs it from her, putting the plate down on her counter. He takes her hand in his, flipping it over to stare at her palm. There's that tiny prick wound smack dab in the middle of it, but underneath is four nail marks, slightly bloody from her fist being so clenched.
"You're still bleeding," he says, staring.
Her hand flies away from his, closer to her face in order to inspect the damage done. "Oh," she mumbles.
A knock erupts at her door, one that is both loud and projected, yet low and rumbling. Claire freezes.
"You better get that," Gray tells her, clearing off the rest of her table, placing the remainder of the dirty dishes in the sink. "Wouldn't wanna leave him waiting."
Claire shoots him another frosty glare, making her way to the door. He swears that her body is tremoring again, but he could just be imaging things. What he really doesn't expect is for it to be Kai on the other side of her door.
His friend throws his arms around Claire immediately, burrowing his face into her shoulder and sobbing hysterically. Claire's eyes are like saucers, staring at Gray for an explanation, but he's wearing the same dumbfounded expression on his own face.
"I'm a …. friggin' wreck," Kai cries, the crook of her neck muffling his words. "I can't believe… I can't believe Pope and I-"
"Relax," Claire says soothingly. "It's okay, Kai."
"Just... take it easy," mumbles Gray, his eyes still wide. He's never seen his friend, or any guy for that matter, like this. Well, maybe his father at his mother's funeral, but that's about it. "Just take it easy."
Claire gently pats Kai's back as he mutters out cries of incoherent sentences, shifting her eyes toward Gray. "I'd like my ten dollars, please," she says.
A/N: Here's a Gray x Claire filled chapter, thought it would be kinda cute. This is long overdue, so I'm REALLY sorry everyone. Life is crazy and I was having such a challenging time writing. I can't even tell you why this was so hard to write... but it was .-.
Also my friend worked at Build-A-Bear and after her shifts she'd be like: "oh, beary cool!" or "that's beary interesting" LIKE UNINTENTIONALLY IT JUST SLIPPED OUT LIKE THAT LMAO LIKE WHAT IS THIS PLACE. I'm not hating tho I got three of my own and they're so cute so stfu Gray :/
Also also, Tina's the name of the main character in Harvest Moon: Magical Melody. Bet u didn't think Gray's mom was once a farmer before moving to the city lmao. I KNOW that game came out after MFoMT, but I've always written Gray's dad as one of the villagers from Save the Homeland (you'll find out who it is soon enough), which was released in 2001. Plus, it's always struck me as being in a different time period than the other games anyway. There was no female main character playable option in that one, and all of those villagers were transported into Magical Melody anyway when it was released, soooo this is the family tree that I've come up with. It'll make more sense later on ;)
